These Shattered Thoughts
by Lunevis
Summary: AU. The night Berwald leaves him, Matthias is left angry, desperate, and raging drunk. Driving away from his troubles, his life is changed forever when he crashes into the car of a certain Norwegian, maiming both the passenger and his heart. Dennor, Sufin.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my first fanfiction for Hetalia, and I've very excited and nervous! Please excuse any slight OOCness, I promise I'll try to get better at pinning down the characters' personalities as this story goes along!_

_Many thanks to my genius friend (you know who are you, bae) for help on law-related matters, as I am completely useless in that regard. Thank you!_

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Ye went overboard again."

That's the first thing Matthias hears as he steps into their shared apartment, slipping off his boots. Sighing loudly, the blond runs a hand through his tousled hair before turning to face the speaker—one angry Swede, Berwald Oxenstierna.

"It was a one time thing." He waves a hand through the air as if to dismiss the matter, and instead pushes his way rather roughly past his boyfriend to flop down on the couch, tired from a day of work. Picking up the remote, he casually turns himself away from Berwald and towards the television screen.

Matthias hears shuffling, and the next thing he finds is a tall, looming Swede glaring down at him. With a look that would've scared most people away, Matthias only returns the gaze with an air of indifference. Truth be told, events like this had been happening a lot more lately, and though it affected both of them at first, now it was more of an everyday thing to go through before dinner.

"So what if I went out drinking with Gilbert?" Giving an exasperated sigh, the Dane leaned forwards. "We celebrated his promotion."

"Where'd ye get the money?" Berwald growled.

Matthias gave a nervous laugh. Oh, he didn't have an excuse this time. "So I may have borrowed from the bank..." As Berwald's face darkened, he quickly spoke up again. "But paychecks come in next week! I promise I'll pay back then."

"'nd what 'bout the other f've times?" Between his fingers, Berwald holds an envelope that is clearly addressed to one Matthias Kohler. Eyeing it nervously, Matthias pipes up.

"Still working on that." He shrugs. "What's it matter to you, anyway?"  
Perhaps that had not been the best thing to say. The Swedish man looks enraged, though the only sign is a slightly darkened expression—something that worries Matthias more than it should. Usually, Berwald would sigh and give him a lecture for a while, and after many promises to pay back the debt, make dinner, and make up for his mistake in _other ways_, they would be alright again until the next mini-battle.

"'m done."  
The words are spoken so quietly that the Dane does not catch them at first, straining to hear as he slowly shuffles closer. "What?"  
"Said 'm done." Berwald repeats slightly louder, his glare increasing in ferocity.

Matthias claps his hands, immediately relining into the folds of his beloved couch. "Great! Love you as always; what's for dinner?"

Berwald's sudden hand on his shoulder stops him suddenly, and the confused Dane looks up to see the Swede hovering above him with certainty clear in his ice-blue eyes. Finding the gaze too timetaking to challenge, Matthias decides to flicker around the room—wait, was that a suitcase?

He watches as Berward retracts, crossing the room in a few swift strides. His grip around the suitcase is firm, his head down. The Swede pauses momentarily to push his glasses up his nose, and Matthias takes this time to question his lover. "Berwald..." he says, unsure how to continue, "what's going on?"

The addressed only glares at him before marching over and shoving the envelope in his direction.

"Goodbye, Matthias," he says softly, almost sadly, before turning on his heels and rolling his small suitcase through the hallway. The Dane stands frozen, his hands gripping the envelope like a lifeline as he watches his boyfriend pull on his shoes, carry the suitcase down the steps, and disappear out the door in the span of a few seconds.

Without ever looking back.

It is only until a full minute after Berwald disappears behind the heavy oaken door that Matthias snaps to his senses, throwing the envelope to the ground.

"How long?" he demands to the thin air before him. "How long has he been planning this? He didn't just wake up today and realise 'oh, I'm going to leave my boyfriend today!' So how long?"

Then it dawns on him that Berwald had probably been planning this for a very long time—after all, he did live through a full year with the Swede and knew a few of the other's habits. Berwald didn't act out of impulsiveness—only after he was completely certain and utterly frustrated did he do something drastic like this. So this could only mean two things; one, that he was not coming back, and two, that Matthias had been failing in his duty as a lover for quite some time now.

As if that didn't make him feel worse.

Slowly, he bends down to retrieve the fallen envelope, crinkled by his sudden and desperate rage. Ripping open the thing—he had never cared for slowly and neatly opening letters, as Berwald was so prominent in doing—he finds a check tucked neatly within.

From one Berwald Oxenstierna to one Matthias Kohler. A check for five hundred dollars.

That day, Berwald left Matthias with nothing but a few words and some money to help him get back on his feet.

The Dane falls back into the couch, all his energy suddenly drained. "Good going, Matthias," he says halfheartedly. "You really scored this time."

With nothing but the background sound of the television to accompany him, Matthias realises that his apartment seems all too big. The man leans forwards, cradling his head between his hands for a moment. Finally, he switches off the TV and looks up, not caring about his messed up hair.

"I need to get wasted."

* * *

Matthias staggered from the exit of the dingy nightclub, waving away the concerned personnel who had insisted he stay behind.

"M' be fine," he slurred, flapping a hand as he ordered the faceless strange away. Longing for another drink, Matthias growled at the memory of the barista refusing to give him another shot, and fumbled for his keys clumsily. Finally managing to open the door of his car without accidentally hitting himself, Matthias threw himself into the driver seat with an aching leg where the door had slammed on the first attempt. After a few minutes spent trying not to fall asleep and recomposing himself, Matthias jammed the keys and started up the engine. The radio started up immediately, a catchy pop song about boys, boys, and more boys that he would've normally scorned at played loud over his speakers. This time, he found himself letting loose a small giggle—wow, he was really lightheaded. Couldn't be that bad, he only had a _few _drinks. Yeah, he'd be fine to drive. His apartment wasn't too far away and he doubted any of his friends would appreciate a call at 12 AM to come pick him up.

Usually it had been Berwald doing these things, even once at 4AM to him, Gilbert, and—it was such a rare occasion, really—Ludwig, who they'd managed to drunk completely senseless.

"What an achievement," he sighed at the memory, momentarily closing his eyes to try to relieve the pure enjoyment that had been that moment. Nevermind that Berwald had looked tired and frustrated—he'd been forgiven the next day, Matthias was sure. Or not too sure.

Maybe it was that his eyes had been closed just a moment too long, or that his hands had suddenly jerked in laughter, but everything happened in a blur that he hardly remembered, the memory crushed by the strong influence of alcohol. One moment he had been off imagining the past, the music blaring distantly in his ears. Suddenly, there was a loud honk, the crushing screech of tires against the road in a desperate attempt to avoid collision, and the next thing he knew he sat stunned, mind completely blank as he looked down at his hands, gripping the driving wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Before him lay a car in shatters, the side completely destroyed. What happened? His own car was firmly planted in the other's side, his front crushed. Lights were flashing, horns were blaring, and he caught sight of the driver—a young man shake the person next to him. There was a scream, a call for help, as cars begin to slow down all around.

"Sir? Sir?"

Someone was speaking to him.

"Mister, are you okay?"

"What did you _do_?"

"Someone get an ambulance!"

"Has anyone called the police?"  
"_Oh Dios_, look at the kid!"

` "Ambulance! Ambulance, now!"

His head was spinning, faces too blurry to make out anymore. The sounds rang all around, only making his headache worse until they rose in a symphony of noise, until he wanted to scream at the world to shut up.

It was too much. Matthias fell, blacking out before his head slammed onto the wheel, letting out a lasting honk that rang over the crash scene.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ahh thank you all so much for all this feedback! :D I honestly wasn't expecting any of this, thanks all around!_

_More Sufin than anything in this chapter. I promise, Norway will appear soon!_

_I'll reply to reviews at the end of the chapter to avoid spamming inboxes and to answer anons._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"Name?"

Even if it wasn't intended, the policeman standing by Mathias' bedside was certainly imposing in his personal space. Mathias wasn't short nor weak by any standard, but considering the recent events he hardly could muster up the strength to speak right now. The other wore a tired expression upon his features, his otherworldly eyebrows scrunched up as he glared holes into the paper before him. Like everyone else, Officer Kirkland, as he had introduced himself as, probably just wanted to go home and forget this tiresome matter.

"Mathias Kohler." He repeated the words he'd been saying to every single official that had passed.

The blond man jotted something down in his notepad. "Do you have an emergency contact?"

At this, Matthias bit his lip. There was actually no one he could call; he doubted his parents back in Denmark would be able to help—and he really didn't want them to find out he'd been driving drunk. Gilbert was probably getting himself raging drunk, as he was prone to do any other day of the week. And Berwald...

Sighing, Matthias shuffled a hand roughly though his messed hair. Wincing where his fingers had unintentionally poked the large bruise on his forehead, born from his rather forceful slam into the car wheel, he spoke slowly.

"Berwald Oxenstierna." He'd have to do some explaining later on.

"Number?"  
After giving the digits, Officer Kirkland seemed satisfied. Mathias had already been questioned earlier by a hospital nurse, and with instructions to let him rest until the next day, the police officer readied himself to leave. He gave the Dane an official nod of his head, though there was no warmth in his gaze. As the man left, Mathias could have sworn he saw a dirty look shot his way.

Then again, he probably deserved that. Leaning back on the fluffy hospital pillows, Mathias closed his eyes and began to run over the events of the last few hours in his head.

It was midnight. He'd been drinking. He'd crashed into another car.

_Now that wasn't too hard, was it? __h_e asked himself. Just facts. Cold, hard facts.

The difficultly lay in what came afterwards. The crushing guilt of realising that he had hit someone, that whoever he had rammed into this fateful night could be in danger.

Mathias didn't know anything about the other car. He'd passed out too quickly, both from shock and intoxication, and when he'd woken he was lying in a hospital bed with a nurse that frowned down on him with disapproval written clear in her features.

_Useless being. _Her glance had said more than words ever could. _You injured someone, and yet we fight to sustain your life._

There was the crushing guilt and light curiosity to deal with, of course. He wondered about the other car, the people that no one had spoken to him about. Were they alright? Which hospital had they been whisked off to?

He found himself thinking of the one man he had spotted before being rendered unconscious—the driver, a rather young, pretty looking fellow with light blond hair and blue eyes. And the person beside him? The driver had turned before Mathias could spot his features completely, but he was enchanted. He wanted to make sure they were okay. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if they had been grievously injured, or even worse...

Mathias shook the despairing thoughts from his head and struggled with the bed, eventually lifting himself into a sitting position, albeit his legs were captured by the bland white sheets. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of getting up. He wasn't injured—he hadn't been the one hit. The most stressful injury probably was the large bruise on his head—giving him quite a headache—from when he's slammed down on the wheel, and a few scrapes and bruises from the force of the collision.

He'd crashed into the passenger side. He can remember that. Suddenly, the finality of the situation caught up to him. Berwald always said his constant drinking would get him into trouble, no matter how extreme; and now it had. He had been driving when he wasn't even supposed to, fuelled by some idiotically egoistic thought that he would be okay.

"It was only a few drinks, huh?" he repeated his earlier thoughts to himself, wishing more than anything he could've gone back in time and changed things. Stopped himself from getting into that car, driving down that one particular road.

More than anything, he wanted to go back even further. To when he and Berwald first met, to when things were still golden and every fight between them had only been light, teasing. Perhaps once he'd gone back and realised what had gone wrong he could change things, model himself into that perfect man the Swede had once placed all his hopes on. His drinking ruined more than his relationship; it'd taken everything—his beloved, his body, his pride, and now his freedom. Surely he couldn't get out of a crash like that without some sort of sentence, and whether it be jailtime or a fine both were things Mathias could not deal with right now.

So he cried. He slumped down on the bed, between the thin sheets. He cried until his eyes were red and raw and even then reality didn't fade. _I need a drink, _he thought, and almost laughed because it was just funny, so, so funny that the very thing that had gotten him into this mess was the one thing that could save him from his current downward spiral of thoughts.

And even when his sobs had echoed all through the nights, haunting the hallways, no one came. He hugged the sheets to his chest, desperately wishing for another body—some warmth to come and comfort him. He was suddenly all alone, so alone. Even after his sobs faded to small sniffles and then absolutely nothing, no one came to check if he was okay.

He preferred it that way. Then he didn't have to explain that he was not the victim of some unfortunate crime but rather the criminal, and would have to suffer as such.

* * *

Berwald stood at the foot of the shop, mentally urging himself to go in. _C'mon, _he thought. _Can't be th't hard. _He took a step forward, sucked in a breath, and repeated the process until he was standing before the door. Then, slowly, he extended a hand and rather forcefully pulled open the translucent door

His action was accompanied by the soft twinkle of bells, though he was more drawn towards the pearl of laughter that had resounded through the room a few seconds later. Turning, Berwald found the one reason he'd stopped at this shop every day for the past week.

At the counter stood the most perfect man Berwald had ever laid eyes to, with wide, soft violet eyes. His blond hair fell in soft locks all around his rounded face, giving the impression of a cherub. Although, Berwald thought with a faint chuckle, though Tino—for that was the male's name—was adorable in every which way and was kind to babies, animals, and every single person in general, the man himself was not quite innocent as looks be. Berwald had first met him at the shooting range, introduced through their shared friend, and the first impression Tino had made was by telling Berwald that if the other dared to interrupt his round, then the next target the Fin would find would be Berwald's heart.

"And," Tino had told him with a soft, angelic smile. "I can hit pretty spot on."

With that, he turned around and hit dead centre in the middle of the paper target's forehead, and Berwald fell in love.

And he'd gotten to know the Fin, through a series of emails and phone calls exchanged when Mathias wasn't home—and the Dane was frequently out, almost always wasting the day away drinking with his self-declared 'Prussian' friend. He found that Tino was not nearly as violent in real life as he had been while on the shooting range—there, he almost seemed like a completely different person. In everyday life, the Fin was simply a cheerful, wonderful flower shop owner that enjoyed the little things in life and saw the beauty in everything and everyone. He was so beautiful, so caring and just so _pure_ that Berwald felt his dingy life, decorated with frequent bills from the bank and fights between him and Mathias, was nothing in compare. And so, he began to plan. To start over and flip to a new page in his book—perhaps one with Tino involved. To a better future, to a brighter life.

In sense, he'd left Mathias for Tino. It was almost crazy, for the Fin had never shown any signs of knowing Berwald's feelings towards him nor returned them, but once he'd actually taken his suitcase and walked out of the door, the Swede realised he'd done the right thing.

To a brighter future, as he told himself.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a voice calling to him.

"Berwald!" Tino's face lit up as the Fin waved him over enthusiastically, eager to begin his usual chatting.

"Morin'," he greeted, heading over in long strides. As he approached, the man at Tino's side flinched momentarily.

Ah, of course. Tino's assistant and best friend, Eduard. Someone who, even after many reassurances from Tino, found Berwald quite scary looking. In truth, the Swedish man couldn't blame him—he was almost used to getting looks due to his intimidating glare and large statue. Almost.

"How are you?" Tino smiled brightly at him, slowly drawing himself away from the counter to stand in front of the Swedish man.

"Good," Berwald muttered. "Ya?"

Tino grinned, a welcome sight in the early morning. "I'm good, thank you for asking!"

Berwald briefly wondered how Tino could speak so much and yet the perfect amount in such a short duration. In truth, if he had to admit it, anything and everything Tino did was almost perfect. Oh, Berwald knew how deeply in love he was with the Fin, and he knew the dangers of hiding such feelings. Even so, it wasn't like he could just turn around and walk out then and there. Could he?

He was brought back to reality by the sound of rustling. "The usual?" Tino asked him as the Fin stood up, holding a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in layers of shimmering, multicoloured paper.

Berwald nodded, reaching for his wallet. He sighed. Though he usually placed the flowers on the vase near his and Mathias' bed, today it would be different. He would go back to the crappy little apartment he found for a cheap price and gently lay the flowers down on the dining table, then sit alone and wonder about his life, his next step. Well, that was depressing.

Tino smiled brightly, thrusting the package his way. "Enjoy your flowers!" he said cheerfully, pocketing the small roll of cash Berwald handed over, tip included. The Swede was glad Tino didn't usually count the money he was paid—though it worried him that people may try to scam the Finnish man, Berwald was able to place in small extras from time to time. He hoped Tino was doing okay; for all the joy the flower shop brought, it was hardly a popular hotspot, being located on the outskirts of town.

_Now or never, Berwald, _he told himself as Tino began to turn away. _Ask him to go to coffee or something. Add in friends if necessary._

"Tino," he began.

The addressed turned around with a small smile. "Yes?"

"Would you—" He was sudden interrupted by the ringing of his phone, the standard ringtone that he had never bothered to change. He muttered a quick sorry to Tino, who nodded in understanding and padded back to Eduard. Frustrated that his plans were foiled, Berwald answered. "Hm?"

"Ah, hello," said an unfamiliar voice. "Is this Berwald..." There was a pause. "Oxenstierna?"

Bewald decided to ignore the failed pronunciation of his last name. "Yes?"

"I'm calling about a Mathias Kohler?" the man on the other line sounded grim.

Berwald's heart, despite itself, skipped a beat. Mathias? But why...he had already made it quite clear that he and Mathias were over.

"What 'bout h'm?" Damn, his words always got mixed up the more distracted he got. Tino was now looking at him with ceased brows, drawn by the sudden intensity of the Swede's glare. Eduard disappeared out the back door with a few words to Tino and a small wave.

"What is your relationship to him?" the caller asked.

Oh, this was not going to be good. If he said ex, then whatever Mathias needed him for may not apply. Berwald wasn't that heartless; he had once loved the Dane and didn't wish for the other to be hurt or in trouble. But if he said boyfriend, then all his attempts with Tino...

"Wh't does it matter?" Maybe his words came out a little too harsh, maybe not. "Wh't happened?"

"I need to know before giving further information," the faceless voice pressed. "This is Officer Arthur Kirkland on the phone."

A police officer? Berwald's mind instantly went into overdrive. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all. Tino be damned, if Mathias had actually went and done something absolutely insane...

"Boyfriend," he choked out. Out of the corner of his eye, Tino almost seemed to wilt. Then again, he was probably only imagining things. The Fin could probably care less.

Arthur seemed to relax. "He's been in a car accident," he said primly.

A car accident? "Is he 'kay?"

"He is," Arthur reassured. "But, Mr. Oxenstierna,"

There was a pause, long and choking. Berwald willed him to continue.

"He wasn't the one hit."

Those few words shattered what had already been a crumbling memory of Mathias. The Dane had hit someone else? Was his spite really so strong?  
"Wh't happened to th' other car?" he demanded, attempting to keep Tino away from the situation. The flower shop owner looked concerned and had started edging closer.

There was a silence. A long, pregnant silence that sent poor Berwald's anxiety into the high heavens.

"One of the boys," Officer Kirkland started. "He was a minor. His litigation guardian, Mr. Bondevik, has decided to take legal action. His surgery was successful and he's alive, but there was some...consequences. Mr. Kohler will probably be issued a large fine and have his license revoked."

Berwald could feel a headache coming on. How did this happen?

"One more thing," the police officer sounded uneasy, his British accent coming in tenfold. "Mr. Kohler was driving while under the influence."

Ah. That explains it. Of course. After Berwald had left, Mathias had done nothing but call up Gilbert and go for a wild night of partying. And now he paid the price. Berwald could almost scoff, if not for the fact that someone was heavily injured.

"The boy," he said, aware that Tino was slowly sliding along the counter. "He 'kay?"

"He'll be alright," was the tight reply. "Recovering, but okay. Now, Mr. Oxenstierna, do you know of any relatives of Mr. Kohler?"

Mathias was never one to talk about anything other than himself and the future. "No."

"How long have you two been dating?"

Berwald bit his lip. "A year."  
"I see." There was a rustle, as if something was being scribbled down on paper. "He isn't too badly injured." Arthur said. "Three days from now, you can come and sign for his release. Then, we'll deal with legal matters."

"Understood," Berwald confirmed, and with a finality hung up. The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on him, and he sighed heavily.

"Mathias," he murmured. "Wh't did ya do?"

"Um, is everything alright?"

Berwald jumped at the sound of Tino's voice, completely forgetting that the shopkeeper was still there. "Fine," he muttered.

"No." Berwald glanced up at the unusually firm tone coming from Tino. The smaller man crossed the space between them in a few quick steps, and looked up at the taller one. "You're not," he said. "So tell me what happened. Who's Mathias? What did that phone call say?"

Berwald doesn't know if it's because the shop has a certain honest lure to it, or because of Tino's gleaming violets staring deep into his own, or just that he's been holding in so much stress and pain that he couldn't control himself anymore. Nonetheless, it all came rushing out—from meeting Mathias to realising it wouldn't work out to what just happened yesterday. He only omitted the part about be drawn to Tino—that he would admit when times were happier, less chaotic.

Halfway through his tale, Tino had smiled once he realised that their conversation wouldn't be brief. He'd silenced the Swede with a finger and a soft smile, then walked over to the door and flipped the cheery red sign with the words 'OPEN' printed boldly across to the other side, one with 'CLOSED' quite vibrant.

"What are you doing?" Berwald had asked.

"Come," Tino had returned mysteriously, beckoning Berwald behind the counter. The Swedish man had followed, mysterious, and was soon lead into another room through the back door. Small and neat, he guessed this is where Tino and Eduard had their breaktimes. There was small table entwined by delicate chairs, and as Berwald slowly lowered himself onto one, Tino brought out a box of cookies and told him to continue.

And so he had. Alone with Tino, eating cookies and spilling out his life as the Fin listened intensely, Berwald felt a sense of peace he had not felt in a long time. All of the pressing matters of tomorrow and three days from now flew from his mind, and he realised that more than anything he enjoyed spending time with Tino. Whether it be friends for now or something more in the future, he hoped for another chance no matter what.

* * *

_Review Replies:_

_**pastaaddict: **Thank you! I hope I didn't disappoint, hah. Thanks for the review!_

_**SkyxFall: **Ahh thank you! Squeals I hope so, thank you for your lovely review! _

_**Anglo-Chan: **Thank you so much, both for the praise and the lovely review! I'll do my best c:_

_**Anne: **Thank you! Yes, Dennor and Sufin will be the final pairings. :D  
Ahaha, I don't know if I included everything like that in here, but I am planning to have some drama before pairings are official established. Thank you for the review! _


End file.
